Sweet Thing
by MsBarrows
Summary: Written for a k!meme prompt. Merrill tries to bake some delicious gifts for the companions and ends up whipping up an aphrodisiac. Rated M for assorted smutty bits.
1. Baking Mishap

**Written for a k!meme prompt:**

"**_So Merrill being all sweet decides to bake - cookies, cupcakes whatever and gives them to the companions. She unknowningly or knowingly puts in an aphrodisiac, a very powerful one. Smut ensues for everyone! Can pair people up however A!As wants. Can be companions or random people in the game, like Corff, Bran, Dumar, etc... Maybe Merrill decides everyone needs a little love in their lives._"**

* * *

><p>Merrill frowned at the open book. "Lathera root – do I even have that?" she muttered. There wasn't any in the corner of the room that was designated as her kitchen, but she found a jar of the dried root mixed in with her potions supplies, and ground up and added the required amount. She wiped a flour-daubed hand across her forehead, blinking back tears as some of the flour dust got into her eyes. Again! If she'd known how difficult making these little cakes was going to be, she'd never have started. She leaned over and checked the recipe. "Two eggs. One cup of soft butter. Beat in well."<p>

She nodded and did so, then glanced at the recipe again, blinking tiredly. She really should have thought of this earlier in the evening. Or waited until the next day to bake them. "Vhenantuthen seeds? That's an unusual choice," she remarked, and went sorting through little bags and boxes and vials again, finally finding some in a chest of miscellaneous herbs under the long table. They were a bit elderly, but she recalled something about their potency – no, it must be their flavour – increasing with long storage. She added them to the thick dough as well, then the final addition of flour and milk, and spooned rounds of the dough onto a greased baking stone before slipping it into the little oven built into the side of her fireplace.

She cleaned up while they cooked, feeling happier and beginning to smile as their rich sweet scent filled the room, washing up the bowl and spoon, and her mortar and pestle, and the cutting board and knife. She put away the cookbook on its shelf, then frowned and dusted stray flour from the books underneath. She really should have put them away before making the cakes, it would have been terrible if she'd spilled something worse than flour on any of them. Especially the old potion book which Marethari had loaned to her. She closed it and re-wrapped it in the cloth that normally protected it, and put it carefully away.

She counted the little cakes when she took them out of the oven, nervous that perhaps she's forgotten to make enough for everyone. There were eight, one each for Hawke, Isabella, Fenris, Anders, Sebastian, Varric, Aveline and... who was she forgetting. She counted them again. Yes, eight. Then pointed her finger at each in turn, rattling off names, and again had one left over. It was very perplexing!

She was too tired to make sense of it. She'd figure it out tomorrow, she decided, and went to bed.

* * *

><p>"I don't understand it," Merrill said in distress as she looked down at the final cake in her hands. "Who am I forgetting to give one to?"<p>

She looked around the room. Everyone had a cake in their hand, neatly wrapped in a scrap of clean cloth tied shut with a bit of colourful ribbon.

"Oh, how clever of you, Kitten," Isabella said soothingly, putting her arm comfortingly around the elf's shoulders. "You even made one for yourself!"

"I did? Oh, yes, I mean... I did!" Merrill exclaimed, a suddenly smile lighting her face. Isabella smiled warmly at her, patted her arm, and sashayed off to pigeonhole Hawke about something.

She was a little disappointed that no one ate their cake right away, but then Varric _had_ just given them all a quite generous meal in celebration of having sold the last of the hoard from the Deep Roads expedition three years ago, and it had included an entire array of different desserts, so perhaps it was for the best that they would wait and enjoy them later. She hoped they liked them.


	2. Anders and Justice

Anders yawned as he let himself into his clinic. It was late, and he probably should go to bed, but he was too keyed up from the party at the Hanged Man still to want to rest, especially with Justice making noises in the back of his head about _wasted time_ and _distractions_.

He went into the curtained alcove where his bed and the packing crate he used as a desk were, and tiredly sat on the edge of the first to face the second, putting down the packet from Merrill before using a spark of magic to light the stub of tallow candle standing in the cracked saucer that was his only light source in the windowless closet of a room. He grimaced as the faint stink of rancid fat given off by the cheap candle, then uncapped his bottle of ink and picked up his quill pen, examining the tip to make sure it hadn't worn down enough yet to require re-cutting. He wished he could afford one of the metal-nibbed pens like the dwarves made, that never needed sharpening, but medicines, potions, bandages and food cost money, and feathers could be found free by anyone with a little time to check where the seagulls liked to perch around the docks.

He pushed the little cloth-wrapped bundle to one side, then pulled a blank sheet of parchment close and leaned tiredly on the edge of the crate, dipping his pen and beginning to write out a fresh copy of his manifesto in his usual neat hand-writing, the words so well-known to him by now that he didn't even need to glance at his original copy, set in a careful stack to one side.

After a while his nose twitched. He licked his lips, then sniffed again. Something smelled... good. Delicious. The cake Merrill had given him, he muzzily realized. His stomach gave a growl of hunger. Damn Grey Warden hunger; he's just stuffed himself like a pig at the Hanged Man, and here he was already hungry again. Still, as often as he ran on short rations – short for a normal man, much less a warden – one good feeding was unlikely to do much to blunt the constantly starved feeling he'd had to learn to live with ever since fleeing Amaranthine.

He put down his pen, ignoring Justice's mutterings while he untied the bit of ribbon and folded back the cloth. The cake inside was about the same size as the palm of his hand, in both size and thickness. Like a soft, thick cookie, or a scone that was more cake-y than bread-like. The top was a lovely golden-brown, fragrant and speckled with little dark seeds. His mouth watered at the rich scent of butter and honey wafting from it.

A couple of minutes later he was licking the last few crumbs off his fingertips, checking the cloth to make sure he hadn't missed anyway. He returned to his writing with a feeling of warm contentment spreading through his belly. He'd have to remember to thank Merrill for the gift next time he saw her. It had been _delicious_.

* * *

><p>Anders shifted position, then shifted again. He wasn't feeling at all tired any more, but he was also finding it remarkably hard to concentrate on writing out the copy of his manifesto. He could feel Justice grumbling in annoyance in the back of his head as he lost track for the third time in as many minutes in just where he was in a sentence, and spoiled the page. He muttered a curse and drew a line through the offending words, then put down the pen and sat back, massaging his temples. Maybe he should go to bed after all; there weren't all that many hours left of the night, and after being closed for so much of today, he really should reopen the clinic bright and early tomorrow.<p>

No, he should finish this blighted page first, and _then_ go to bed. Otherwise Justice was never going to shut up enough for him to sleep. He picked up the pen, and found his mind wandering again, thinking about the party earlier. Little details he hadn't particularly paid attention to at the time kept coming back now. The swell of Isabella's breasts straining that scrap of fabric she called a top, threatening to burst free at any moment. Hawke's lips, glistening redly with the wine he'd just drunk, a single drop lingering at the corner of his mouth, just begging to be licked off, except the blasted man never noticed _him_. Fenris, with that gorgeous white hair and the white lines swirling so tantalizingly across his visible flesh before vanishing under his armour, all lithe and dangerous...

An especially loud grumble from Justice brought him momentarily back to himself. He was flushed and panting, and hard as a rock. He realized he was brushing the feather back and forth across his lips, and dropped it to the desk, then turned over and stretched out on his bed. Maker, what had come over him? He hadn't felt this randy since he was a teenager. Blight it, he hadn't felt this randy even when he _was _a teenager!

His fingers were shaking as he started unfastening his robes. He had to stop and catch his breath a couple of times, as his fumbling with buckles brought him perilously close to make a mess in his only clean set of robes. Well, sort-of clean. His definition of 'clean' had changed considerably since leaving Vigil's Keep and all its nice services for the wardens, like servants to do the laundry and a decent wage and enough to eat and a whole _wardrobe_ full of different robes...

Blight it, he thought, and stripped the robe off over his head, tossing it to one side, and frowning at the wet spot spreading across the front of his smallclothes. He hadn't even been _touching_ himself, and he'd come. Thinking about _robes_, of all things.

And he was already getting hard again. Ignoring Justice's increasingly annoyed grumbles he stripped off his smallclothes, dropping them onto the floor, then reached down, stroking his right palm up the underside of his rapidly hardening cock while reaching to fondle his balls with his left hand. He hissed in pleasure as he palmed the swollen, damp tip of his erection, then gasped as he felt Justice flare into full manifestation, freezing him.

**What are you doing?**

"Getting off again, with any luck," he muttered. "Go away, Justice, this is _not_ a good time..."

An offended, angry feeling from the spirit. Justice never had much understanding for the urges and needs of the human body. This one in particular had always seemed particularly upsetting to the spirit. Justice, Anders had long since decided, was a natural prude. But then spirits probably never gave themselves a good wanking, assuming they even had any of the necessary bits. Which was doubtful, it wasn't like spirits put in any time creating _littler_ spirits...

The level of offended feeling increased. Damn, the thought must have _leaked_. He felt Justice begin to move his hands away from himself, and wanted to groan in dismay. He fought to resume control of his own body. And gasped again as his hand tightened and slid jerkily along his cock, result of the mixed signals it was getting. His hips thrust automatically, body seeking to increase the sensation.

Justice went very silent in his head for a moment, freezing him again. If he could have cursed, he would have. Maker, he was going to explode out of sheer frustration alone, he needed to move so badly, right _now_. And then his hand moved again, tentatively and very much _not_ at his direction, stroking lightly down and up his erection before stopping again. He mewled with pleasure at the return of the friction his body was begging for, thrust with his hips, wanting _more_.

"Justice!" he groaned, shocked.

**Shut up.**

He blinked in surprise, then cried out again as his hand resumed its motions. His left hand stuttered back into motion also, fingering his balls then moving up to wrap around and stroke his shaft as well.

_Andraste's knicker-weasels_, Justice was giving him a hand-job. The thought was mind-blowing. The sensation blew something else entirely, his hips snapping into motion and thrusting urgently into the enveloping circle of warm fingers, his seed spurting out in a sticky mess on his stomach just moments later. He lay back, blinking and panting, twitching from aftershocks.

After a minute he sat out, leaning off the side of the bed to retrieve the already-soiled smallcothes and use them to clean up the mess. He moaned as the touch of the rough fabric made his penis jerk in reaction, beginning to rise again. _Damn Grey Warden stamina_ was all he had time to think, and then Justice was moving his hands again.

**What _else_ can we do?**

He felt Justice plundering his memories, of every time he's had sex, every time he'd pleasured himself or someone else. Felt the spirit's mixture of curiosity and revulsion and... that _must _be titillation. A spirit, titillated... did they even have tits? If not, what word was appropriate...

This was either a dream or a nightmare, he decided an endless while later. And right now he didn't care which it was, as long as Justice kept his hand wrapped around their cock and his fingers buried in their ass. He hadn't had more than a couple of quick, furtive wanks while Justice was _elsewhere_ ever since they'd joined. If Justice had finally decided to take an interest in the pleasures of their shared flesh, he was _not _going to argue. Especially not with their fifth orgasm – or was it sixth? He'd lost count somewhere – building so sweetly.

Even if they had made a horrible mess of his sheets already. With more to come, he devoutly hoped.


	3. Merrill and Varric

"No, I insist, you're sleeping here tonight, Daisy," Varric said. "It's too late at night for you to be walking back to the alienage on your own, and I'm too drunk to walk you myself at the moment."

"All right," Merrill said meekly. She knew she could take care of herself if she had to, but it probably was for the best if she didn't provoke some sort of anti-mage or anti-elf incident by using her powers against the street gangs that roamed Kirkwall at night. And it was nice that Varric worried about her safety the way he did.

As he'd done often enough over the years since she'd moved to the alienage and first begun attending these nights at the Hanged Man with Hawke and his friends, Varric pulled some extra bedding out of a chest against one wall and spread it out at the foot of his bed. The bed was sized to take two or three big humans, so there was plenty of room for him to sleep at the head and her at the foot, with room left over for more, though only rarely did anyone else stay here – Isabella once, and Hawke twice. The night with Isabella had been fun, the three of them sitting up and talking until the wee hours of the morning, Isabella walking her home afterwards in the beautiful dawn light. Hawke, on the other hand, had merely been passed out both times, too drunk to go home. He seemed quite a grouchy person in the mornings, though Varric told her that was likely due to a hangover.

As she arranged the blankets to her satisfaction – a nest, Isabella had insisted on calling it the time she'd stayed – she wondered what a hangover was like. She didn't think she'd ever had one. She'd gotten drunk here once and only once, and hadn't liked the experience at all, what little she could remember of it, which mainly revolved around how odd everything had seemed and how hard it had been to think. Anders had had several things to say about the inadvisability of mixing alcohol and blood magic, and while the others had spoken sharply to him about it, well... she had to admit a tiny part of her agreed with what he'd said. She hadn't liked how the alcohol had made it so much harder to ignore the seductive voice of the spirit linked to her blood magic, and had carefully stuck to only tiny amounts of small beer and cider ever since.

She yawned and curled up in the blankets. "Good-night, Varric," he murmured sleepily.

"Night, Daisy," he said softly back, and then blew out the candle beside the bed.

* * *

><p>Varric woke and muttered an oath as he realized how full his bladder was feeling. Too much to drink the night before. He slipped out of the bed as quietly as he could, padding barefoot to the tiny crude washroom off of the main room of his quarters. Not much of a washroom by dwarven standards, there was no piping here, but at least he was able to make use of a regularly emptied earth closet in private, rather than having to rely on a chamberpot stashed under his bed as most humans did; a foul practise, in his considered opinion, and not exactly conducive to pleasant odours in the bed chamber.<p>

He poured a little water out of a waiting jug into a basin and washed up afterwards, before tipping the dregs down a drain set in one corner of the floor, then returned to the bedroom, noticing in passing the pre-dawn greyness outside the one window set high in the wall of his main room.

"Varric?" Merrill asked sleepily, stirring in her nest of blankets. "Is that you?"

He smiled fondly at the young elf as he climbed back into bed. "Yes, Daisy. I just had to get up for a few minutes. You can go back to sleep if you want, it's early yet."

"I'm awake now anyway," she said, and sat up, crossing her legs. "Or do you mean you want to sleep more?"

He laughed softly. "No, I've slept enough. It's a cold morning though, I'd rather stay all nice and warm in bed for a while."

Merrill nodded, rubbing absently at her thin arms. "I suppose this is a little chilly," she agreed. Her stomach gave a little rumbling gurgle, and she giggled. "Oh! I guess I'm hungry," she exclaimed.

"It's too early to get breakfast," Varric said. "Everything will be closed and locked up tight."

She nodded, then suddenly smiled. "There's the cakes I gave everyone last night," she pointed out, and started searching through the nest of blankets for wherever she'd put hers down.

"So there is," he agreed, looking around, and spotted his on the nightstand beside the bed. "Light the candle, will you?" he asked as he picked it up.

Merrill nodded, and a tiny glow flared into lie at its tip, quickly springing up into a proper flame. She smiled, pleased at herself, as she finally found her own cake, carefully put down off to one side from her blankets so she wouldn't crush it in the night.

Varric took an appreciative sniff of the cake she'd given him. "This looks and smells delicious. You baked them yourself?" he asked, before taking his first bite.

She nodded as unwrapped her own cake. "Yes, it's a recipe we Dalish sometimes make for special celebrations. I haven't had any in years. I thought last night was a good reason to make them. I was a little worried, in case it turned out to be a silly idea and not appropriate for your party."

Varric warmly smiled back at her. "Well, I think it was a wonderful idea, and entirely appropriate. And this is delicious, by the way," he added, before taking a second big bite.

Merrill beamed, then took a bite of her own, closing her eyes in pleasure as she chewed. "Mmmm. I'd forgotten what they taste like. All sweet with honey," she said, and broke off a piece, frowning at it momentarily. "Seeds... I don't remember the seeds," she muttered, brow creasing in perplexity, then shrugged and popped the bit into her mouth, smiling again at the taste. She'd done a good job on these.

Varric finished off his, and leaned comfortably back against the pile of cushions at the head of the bed. "That was a nice breakfast," he said.

Merrill reward him with another beaming smile as she finished off her own. She looked around, wondering what to do with the bit of cloth and ribbon it had been wrapped in.

"Here, give me that," he said, leaning forward and holding out his hand. She passed the things to him, and he put them aside on the nightstand with the wrappings from his own cake before settling back against the cushions again. "So. We didn't have time to talk much last night, did we? How have you been lately?" he asked.

"Oh, the usual," she said, shrugging and looking down at her hands. "Busy with my reading and my work."

Varric grunted, and listened to her talking about her life, things her neighbours had gotten up to or said to her recently, little adventures of her own in the city. For Merrill, even something as mundane as going out to buy groceries was an adventure, fraught with worry and laced with tiny triumphs as she struggled to get by in the foreign environment of a big mixed-race city after spending her entire life up until three years ago living within the communal security of a Dalish clan.

Merrill, he knew, was an intensely lonely person, separated from her clan, largely shunned by the other elves in the alienage. It was only Hawke and his friends – and not even all of them – who ever took the time to visit her, to speak to her, to invite her to spend time with them. And that not nearly often enough, as Hawke himself was leery of her use of blood magic and only rarely took her along on his adventures. Really, of all the group, it was only himself and Isabella that gave much thought to the young elf at all.

Really, the others didn't know what they were missing in not befriending the girl. She was quite sweet, and while almost painfully ignorant of the realities of city life, not to mention astonishingly innocent in many ways, she was also kind, thoughtful, intelligent, and quite charmingly beautiful. Nothing like the beauty of a ripely curvacious dwarven woman, of course, but her slight form had a delicate beauty of its own. And he knew from watching her in battle that she wasn't nearly as fragile as she looked; that was lean muscle under her chain mail, with not an ounce of spare flesh. He'd seen her swinging around her sizable staff with much the same careless ease with which Fenris handled the massive two-handed sword he favoured; elves may not look as obviously strong as a dwarf or human did, but they were certainly considerably stronger than an equivalent sized human would be.

He realized Merrill's conversation had trailed off, and looked up to find her looking at him oddly, head tilted a little to one side, eyes large and almost luminous in the reflected candlelight. He was about to say something – apologize for his own wool-gathering, if nothing else – when she leaned forward, and crawled on hands and knees up the bed toward him, the motion of her narrow shoulders and hips disturbingly lithe.

"Merrill?" he said, and felt his mouth go dry as she smiled slightly, licking her lips.

She sunk down beside him, curling her slender legs up under her, and leaned forward, reached out with one hand. "I've always wondered what this felt like," she said, and then touched her fingers to his chest hair. She brushed upwards, against the grain of it first, startling a surprised gasp out of him, and then stroked her hand the other way, sleeking it back down.

"Merrill!" he yelped in shock as her hand continued down beneath his shirt.

She turned her head and gave him a little smile. "Don't you like it?" she asked curiously.

"That's not the problem," he said. "I think I'd like it just fine. Bianca, on the other hand..." he trailed off.

They both turned and looked at the crossbow, leaning against the wall in one corner, the candlelight gleaming off her well-oiled stock.

"I'll talk to her," Merrill declared, and rose from the bed, taking the few steps necessary to walk over to the crossbow and then hunker down on the floor, balanced on the balls of her bare feet, crossed forearms resting on her knees. He could hear a faint thread of sound, like she was whispering quietly. Then silence, then another murmur. He watched her, fascinated by both her actions and her appearance. Then she giggled and rose to her feet, padding off and coming back with her staff, which she leaned against the wall beside the crossbow, before rejoining him on the bed. "She says it's all right this once," she said complacently. "As long as she has some company while you're busy."

Varric looked suspiciously at her, then at the staff. "Does, err... does your staff have a name?" he asked suspiciously.

Merrill giggled again. "No, of course not, that would be _silly!_ It's just a staff," she said, and then she leaned forward and kissed him, her hands reaching out to run through his chest hair again. She drew back after a moment, licking her lips like a cat after finishing off a plate of cream, a pleased smile on her face, then peered back down at his chest hair again. "I've always wondered about just how much hair you have," she said. "I know Hawke has it all over his chest and his legs and arms, even his _back!_ Is it the same for dwarfs? Elves aren't anywhere near as hairy, you know, apart from on our heads. We have almost none, in fact. I wonder why, sometimes." As she talked she started unbuttoning his clothes, stopping at intervals to reach out and brush her hand over his chest again.

"Wait. How do you know how much hair Hawke has everywhere?" Varric asked suspiciously as she started unlacing his leggings.

"Well he doesn't exactly cover up when he's bathing after a battle," she pointed out. "There was this one time we were out on the Wounded Coast, and he was _dripping_ with gore, and insisted on bathing right then and there. So he stripped down to his smallclothes and just waded right in. I'd never seen so much of a human before. Are they all so big?"

Varric choked. No, he decided, he was _not_ going to try and find out in what sense she was using the word 'big' in relation to Hawke. "Not all," he said, then decided to shut her up by leaning forward and kissing her. That worked remarkably well, keeping them both pleasantly occupied while they co-operated in removing the rest of his clothing.

He frowned at her when he was down to his smallclothes. He was next thing to naked, and _she_ was still fully clothed, covered from neck down to wrists and ankles in her close-fitted suit of mail. He picked up her arm, and nuzzled into the soft skin exposed on the inside bend of her elbow, lapping his tongue against her skin. She tasted good, clean and just slightly salt-sweet. He ran his hand along the armour. "Doesn't this ever come off?" he asked teasingly.

She laughed again. Her laugh, he decided, was even better than her smile. "Of course it does," she said, and and shifted back on the bed, raising her legs and then stretching them out across his lap. "Take care of my leg armour," she told him, and then started unfastening the belts holding on her striped tunic.

He obeyed, undoing all the little straps holding on the two leather plates that covered her from foot to mid-thigh on each leg, carefully putting them aside. Meanwhile she stripped off her scarf and tunic and the leather armour over her forearms, leaving her in just the chain mail garment. It proved to have a row of small fastenings up the front, and once she'd undone those, she slipped it off over her shoulders and down. And then he had an armful of naked, enthusiastic elf, busily running her hands over him to explore just how hairy he was. He smiled, and did the same, exploring her smoothness. There was just the lightest dusting of fine short hairs dusting the folds of her labia, giving them a wonderfully velvety texture, and apart from that and the hair on her head she was smooth everywhere. He felt shaggy as a bear in comparison.

"So do I have as much hair as Hawke?" he couldn't resist asking.

Another giggle. "No! Or maybe it's just that yours isn't so dark, so it doesn't stand out as much. No, I think he has more, your back isn't at all hairy, is it?" she said, squirming around to peer over his shoulder. Which put her breasts in an entirely delightful position relative to him, and he took full advantage, leaning forward and suckling gently on one nipple, reaching up to tease the other one with one hand.

Merrill made a pleased, surprised sound, and a moment later her hands were grasping his head, holding him to her and making needy little sounds that seemed to shoot right down into his groin. If he hadn't been hard as the Stone itself before then, he certainly was now. A few minutes passed in relative silence, the both of them just making occasional sounds of pleasure as they explored each other's reaction to the touch of hands and mouths.

He forced himself to stop after a while, pushing her gently away. "Merrill. Have you... done this before? Made love?" he asked hesitantly. Ancestors knew, he didn't want to hurt her, and if it was her first time...

She smiled shyly, and blushed. It started at her face and went downwards, colouring her right down to the upper curves of her pert little breasts. "Yes. Just once though," she said. "I'm not... very experienced," she admitted hesitantly, then bit at her lower lip. "It hurt, a little. Is it supposed to?"

"It can at first," he reassured her quietly. "And I don't want this to hurt you at all. So we're going to take our time and make sure you enjoy this, all right?"

"Yes," she said, and gave him a heart-stoppingly glorious smile. "I trust you, Varric."

He repositioned the two of them first, her sitting back upright against the pillows, then kissed her for a while, one hand stroking over her body, her arms, teasing her breasts, while the other reached down between her legs, gently stroking the soft velvety folds there for a while before dipping between them, exploring the hotter, moist interior folds. He stroked his fingertips gently back and forth, teasingly, until she was making little frustrated sounds of pleasure, squirming for more.

He moved back, and lifted her buttocks up slightly, sliding a cushion in under her, then lay down her legs. She watched with puzzled interest as he gently spread her apart and leaned in, then ran his tongue up, tasting the salty moisture there. She gasped and shivered, and he smiled, then angled in so that he could tongue at the hard little nub of flesh hiding near the top of her slit. He concentrated on stimulating it for a while, then slid one finger up to probe for the entrance to her vagina, pressing slowly, gently inward, just a little bit at a time.

She was crying out softly and repeatedly now, head thrown back and eyes shut tight. He worked his finger slowly in and out a few times, then withdrew it, and then pressed in again, this time with two fingers. He sat up a little, changing the angle of his hand so that his thumb took over from what his tongue had been doing, his two fingers pressed deeply into her, curling and uncurling as they rubbed gently in and out, as he kissed his way slowly back up her body, pausing to pay special attention to her navel, her nipples, the base of her neck. Her arms rose and locked around his shoulders, her body arching frantically against his as she ground down on his fingers, a string of wordless cries of pleasure bursting forth from here, then a louder cry as she came, muscles clamping down hard on his fingers. To his surprise he came as well, spending himself on her belly. He hadn't realized he was so close to the edge himself.

He retrieved one of the scraps of cloth from the nightstand, and wiped them both clean, dropping it on the floor to dispose of later.

"I liked that," Merril said breathlessly, beaming happily at him, and leaned forward to kiss him again. "What else can we do?"

Varric laughed and pulled her into his arms, cuddling her close. "I'll need a bit of time to recover first, Daisy," he told her. "And then why don't we find out?"

She smiled warmly back at him, then kissed him again.


	4. Isabella and Aveline

Aveline bid Hawke good-night as they passed his mansion, then a few steps later raised her hand in farewell as Fenris and Sebastian turned aside to head westwards toward the chantry and the Hightown estates. It was not until she reached her office in the keep that she realized Isabella, rather than departing with Hawke as she'd believed the woman planned to, had followed her instead.

"What do _you_ want, whore?" she growled, letting her distaste for the pirate seep into her voice.

"Just a small favour," Isabella said, giving her a winning smile and hitching one hip up on the corner of Aveline's desk.

"I don't do _favours_ for scum," Aveline told her, narrowing her eyes and glaring.

"Oh, my, if looks could kill," Isabella purred. "The favour isn't actually for me," she explained sweetly. She unwrapped the cake Merrill had given her, sniffed at it, then smiled again at Aveline. "It's something for Hawke," she said, and took a large bite, smiling blissfully as she chewed.

"What sort of favour? And get your fat arse off my desk!" Aveline spat.

Isabella sniffed and rose to her feet. "My ass is not fat. Yours, on the other hand, after sitting at a desk all day like you do..." She shrugged and turned away, taking a second bite of the cake, and started to stroll around to the far side of Aveline's desk.

Aveline's eyes widened as she caught sight of a cloth-wrapped bundle tucked into the scarf riding low around the other woman's hips. Merrill's gift... her hand flew to her own belt pouch, and found her similarly wrapped bundle missing. "You _bitch!_ You stole my present from Merrill!" she exclaimed, lunging out and snatching the bundle. "I'll take that," she said, voice hardening.

Isabella tried to snatch it back, but Aveline danced back out of her reach, stripped off the cloth, and crammed half the cake in her mouth. Isabella made a face at her. "Damn. And here I thought I was going to get both of them."

"You shouldn't get _any_ after a trick like that," Aveline said severely around a mouth full of crumbs. "What do you think Merrill would think of you, stealing one of her gifts to someone else!"

"You won't tell her, will you?" Isabella asked, alarmed. She _liked_ the naive little elf, and would hate for her to be hurt by something she'd done.

"I won't, but only because it would make _her_ feel bad, and make _me_ feel like I'd kicked a puppy."

Isabella rolled her eyes. "You Fereldans and your blighted dogs. Look, I apologize, okay? Now can we discuss the favour I wanted?"

Aveline sighed and dropped into her chair, rubbing at her temples. "Damn. You won't leave until you've asked whatever it is, obviously, so go ahead. Just make it fast, I'm tired and want to go to bed."

Isabella nodded, licking the last crumbs from the cake off her fingers. "All right. Look, you remember what happened when Hawke returned from the Deep Roads, right?"

"Yes. Bethany was hauled off by the templars. What of it?" Aveline asked, then rose to her feet and crossed her office to the armour stand in one corner. She might as well get started on removing her armour for the night while listening to the blasted pirate wench. She started work on undoing buckles as Isabella explained.

"Well, in all the excitement about Varric having sold the last of the horde from their trip, everyone is forgetting that it's also the anniversary of him losing his sister; he hasn't been allowed to see her since. I have a contact in the gallows, he says he might be able to swing a family visit for her, _if_ Hawke can get signatures authorizing it from at least three high-ranking people, one each from the chantry, government, and guard. Sebastian sweet-talked one of the good mothers into signing, Seamus twisted Seneschal Bran's arm, and now I just need yours."

Aveline turned and narrowed her eyes at Isabella. "I'll want to see _exactly_ what I'm signing and be sure you're telling the truth first, but yes, if it'll get Hawke a chance to see his sister again, I'll sign," she said, then noticed the wide-eyed way the pirate was staring at her. "What? Do I have something spilled on myself?" she asked, looking down at her front.

"Errr... no. I just never realized before what you were keeping hidden under that breastplate. Maker's _balls_, Aveline, how can you stand being squashed that flat all day! I'm surprised the pressure doesn't burst the straps!"

Aveline's eyebrows rose. "As opposed to constantly being in danger of spilling out of something like that excuse for a shirt _you_ wear? I'd rather have my tender bits safely armoured than waving freely in the middle of a fight like you did last week, thank you. Besides, men take me more seriously when they're looking at my face instead of my breasts."

"Well, you have to admit, my buttons popping loose that way _did_ rather distract those mercenaries," Isabella said smugly. "And they certainly took my blades and I pretty _seriously_ by the end of that fight."

Aveline snorted, and turned away to hang the last parts of her armour on the stand. Then yelped and jumped, as a hand grabbed a handful of her ass.

"Isabella!" she exclaimed in shock, moving quickly away from the other woman. "What are you..."

And then the pirate had her backed up against a wall. "You're quite a woman, Aveline, once you peel off that ugly armour you wear," Isabella purred, pressing against her, then reached up and caught her head, and leaned forward, as if to kiss her.

Aveline reached up, meaning to grab Isabella's wrists and pull her hands away, then the woman's lips brushed hers and she found herself grabbing her by the shoulders instead, and pulling her closer.

The kiss was like a duel between the two of them, all thrusting tongues, sucking, and biting. Isabella moaned as Aveline's hands slid down from her shoulders, reaching to fondle her breasts through the thin material of her shirt. Isabella retaliated by reaching down to grab Aveline's ass, one shapely thigh moving to press between the other's woman's legs as she pulled her tight against her. For a few minutes everything was grabbing hands, buttons being undone, questing fingers, and a struggle to see who could most excite the other, the two of them rolling around naked on the carpet, as much wrestling with each other as fondling each other.

They both froze at the sound of footsteps and voices outside the door of Aveline's office.

Isabella turned her head and looked at Aveline. "Tell me that door is locked," she hissed.

"It's not," Aveline said, barely breathing the words. "Doesn't have one. I swear, if any of my guardsmen walk in and find me rolling around bare-assed on the floor with you..."

Isabella smirked. "Then we'll have to be very, very quiet, won't we?" she purred, and lowered her head again, grinning at Aveline's stiffled moan as Isabella nibbled gently on her nipple, one hand sliding down between her legs to stroke at the moist folds there. She lifted her head again. "Want me to stop?"

Aveline grimaced. "Yes. _Shit! _No! Stop now and I _will_ have to kill you."

Isabella grinned and lowered her head again, almost purring with pleasure herself as Aveline's hands caressed her own back and breasts, then a few minutes later urged her to move upwards so that she could suckle on Isabella's breasts in turn. It also moved the rogue to where Aveline could reach between her thighs as well, and Isabella bit back a moan as the woman's fingers slid down and into her, inexpertly mimicking what Isabella herself was doing to Aveline.

"You've... never done this before... with another woman?" Isabella panted out.

"No," Aveline gasped, eyes closing and head tilting back as she squirmed against Isabella's questing fingers. "_Maker_, that feels good!"

And then they were both clutching tightly together, stiffling their cries of pleasure as they came, clamping hard around each others fingers.

"By the Qun but that was good," Isabella exclaimed, rolling off Aveline and onto her back, panting heavily as she tried to catch her breath.

Aveline snorted. "Only _you_ would think to swear by a heathen religion."

Isabella grinned, rolling over and up on one elbow. She reached out and gently stroked one finger in a slow circle around Aveline's navel. "So... want to have another go? We have all night, if you want to learn more about how two women can make each other feel very, _very_ good."

Aveline covered her eyes with her forearm for a moment. "Damn. _Yes._ Tonight only though, and then we'll never speak of this again, agreed?" she said warningly, removing her arm and turning to look at Isabella.

"Agreed," Isabella said, nodding.

"I just _know_ I'm going to regret this later. So tell me... what _else_ can we do?" Aveline asked, a note of trepidation in her voice.

"Slide on over here and I'll show you, sweet thing," Isabella purred.


	5. Sebastian and Fenris

As they reached the courtyard in front of the chantry, the two men paused. Fenris glanced almost shyly at Sebastian, then looked away. "Would you care to stop by my house for a glass of wine before you return to the chantry?" he asked, voice carefully formal, as it always was on the rare occasions he invited anyone to join him.

Sebastian hesitated, glancing at the nearby steps leading up to the chantry doors. It was late, late enough that he should go back to his quarters, yet... he enjoyed the elf's company, enjoyed the time they spent talking together, in debating religion and morality, and subjects like the difference between ethical behaviour and what was merely expeditious. For someone unable to read, the elf had a surprisingly broad range of knowledge; gained by overhearing the endless debates of the magisters, the elf said.

"Why not," he said affably, and turned away from the chantry to stroll alongside Fenris up the stairs to the Hightown estates and into the disused mansion the elf had claimed for his residence some years before. He followed Fenris upstairs to the one room the elf had cleaned out to live in, and sat down in a comfortable armchair near the table while Fenris looked over the selection of bottles he'd most recently carried up from the wine cellar, and made a selection.

He brought it over to the table, extracting the cork with the clawed tip of one gauntlet – a neat trick, Sebastian always thought – and handed it to Sebastian. He poured a splash of wine into the goblet he habitually used, then passed the bottle back to the elf. Fenris sat down in a matching armchair, the bottle in hand, while Sebastian drew a flask from his belt and topped up the goblet with water, ignoring Fenris' quiet snort.

He lifted up his goblet and held it out toward Fenris, raising one eyebrow enquiringly. Fenris smiled faintly, leaning forward to tap the side of the bottle against the rim of the goblet. "Confusion to our enemies," he said.

"Confusion to our enemies," Sebastian agreed, and then both men drank, Sebastian taking a careful sip of his well-watered wine, Fenris a lengthy swallow from the bottle. Sebastian started to sit back in his chair, then remembered his bulky belt. He unhooked it and put it down on the table beside him, then remembered the gift from Merrill that he'd put away in the largest pouch and drew it out. "We should eat, as well as drink," he said. "Especially after all we already drank at the Hanged Man." Which in his case had been just a half-glass of unwatered wine earlier in the evening, and a quantity of small beer, but for Fenris had been an entire bottle of a decent wine that Varric had picked up just for him.

Fenris nodded, and located his own wrapped cake. He sniffed at it, brow furrowing. "I should know this smell," he said thoughtfully.

Sebastian sniffed his own. "What? The honey? Or the butter?" he asked, smiling in amusement, then took a bite of his. "Mmm!"

Fenris frowned. "No, one of the seasonings in it, I think," he said, sniffed again, then shrugged and took a bite. A pleased expression crossed his face. For a moment both men fell silent, eating their cakes and washing it down with more wine.

"She is a surprisingly good cook," Fenris commented, leaning back in his chair.

Sebastian nodded in agreement. "I must remember to thank her next time I see her. It was a kind thought of hers to make something to share with her friends, when she has so little herself."

"I suppose it was," Fenris agreed dubiously. "It is a pity she is a blood mage. Were it not for that I would call her... a kind person."

Sebastian tilted his head. "I think she manages to be kind, even as a blood mage. The two are not mutually exclusive, you know."

Fenris frowned. "In my experience blood mages are never kind."

"And yet you just said that, bar her being a blood mage, Merrill _is_ kind."

"She seems kind now. But the very heart of blood magic is the use of others, the destruction of them to power one's own magic. So far I do not believe that Merrill has used any blood but her own in her rites, yet the temptation is always there. And it is a power intimately connected to demons; it requires a pact with one to invoke, the blood being the sacrifice paid to the demon for greater power. It is no benign spirit. In time, it will corrupt her, and she will become a horror. Her benign seeming now is but a fleeting thing."

The two hotly debated the topic for some few minutes, Sebastian taking the contrary position for a while just to further the debate, though at heart he agreed with Fenris' words; for all her sweetness and seeming innocence, Merrill was a danger. At least to herself at present, and some day, if she did not renounce her ill-gotten powers, all too likely to become a danger to others as well.

Fenris seemed unsettled this evening he noticed; the elf often stood and paced while they talked, but when he began doing so partway through their debate tonight he seemed... jittery. On edge.

"Is something wrong, Fenris?" Sebastian asked after a while.

"I... no. I don't know," the elf said distractedly. He looked at the wine bottle in his hand, drank the final mouthful, then snarled and threw it to shatter against the wall nearby. Not the first time Sebastian had seen him do thus, and likely not to be the last, either, though usually the elf had to be quite incensed about something before he did so. Sebastian sat up, frowning, wondering what had turned Fenris' earlier good mood so rapidly foul.

"Are you all right, my friend?" he asked softly.

Fenris turned away, shoulders slumping. "You should go," he replied.

"Why? What is wrong?"

"I am no fit company for anyone, least of all you, at the moment."

Sebastian rose and walked closer to Fenris, concerned about his sudden anger and withdrawal. He knew his friend's emotions were mercurial, but he'd never seen him go through so rapid and extreme a mood change before. "What is wrong?" he asked again, forgetting himself and starting to reach out to touch his arm before remembering Fenris' dislike of contact and stopping the motion.

Fenris gave a short, bitter laugh. "Everything," he said. "I am an ugly, distorted creature, living a shadow of a life. I sometimes wonder why I even bothered to flee my master. I sometimes think I am no more free of him now than I was when I lived in his house and walked at his side, his property and plaything." He raised his head slightly, gestured at the room around them. "Even now, I live in _his_ house, waiting for his return. If he ever returns for me himself, I fear that rather than killing him, I will beg to return to my slavery, like a whipped dog returning to its kennel."

"Fenris, no..." Sebastian said. "You are stronger than that. You _know_ you are. You are not ugly, nor distorted. And you are no man's dog."

Fenris swore and walked a few steps away, then turned back to face him. "_Look at me!_" he spat out, then yanked roughly at the fastenings of his armour, shucking off his gauntlets and vambraces, peeling back the armour around his upper body to hang down, leaving him naked from the waist up. He gestured at himself, at the white markings branded into his skin. "Look at me! His ownership of me is carved into my flesh, an ugliness that I cannot erase. It is etched into my very being, in every memory of every moment in his hands. Even if I do some day kill him, he will still be there, inside me, warping every thought and memory and emotion I might feel, as Hadriana haunts me still even though I _killed_ the bitch! I can never erase the ugliness they have left inside me and on me, never be worthy of anyone's friendship or love."

Sebastian shook his head. "If you could see yourself through _my_ eyes... you are not ugly, Fenris. Far from it. You are strong, and intelligent, loyal to your friends, gentle... you are beautiful. And worthy of friendship. And of love. The Maker loves you, Fenris. _I_ love you, like a brother."

Fenris stared at him for a long moment, then stalked closer, stopping just a half-pace away. "Only like a brother?" he asked, voice low and dangerous.

Sebastian swallowed heavily. "My vows do not allow me to love anyone more closely than that..." he began.

Fenris snarled angrily. "Your _vows!_ You use them as a convenient shield to keep others at a distance, just as you use that armour of yours to keep yourself distant from those in the chantry you name as _brother_ and _sister_. You cannot be both priest and prince, Sebastian, and as you stand you are neither one thing nor the other. You use the excuse of your vows to stand apart from your fellow man even as you use your pride of place, your paternity, to stand apart from your fellows in the chantry. I am surprised your Grand Cleric's patience has not long since run out with you!"

Sebastian stared at the elf, shocked to his core. He wanted to deny what the elf had just said – and yet it fit all too well with things Elthina had said to him over the last few years, as he grappled with the dichotomy between the peace he'd found in his priesthood, and the desire to return to Starkhaven, reclaim his family's home and the rule of his people.

He looked down at his armour. Fine, beautiful armour, completely unlike anything any other priest wore. Worn not because he _needed_ to wear it, but out of his pride and vanity, taking on the visible mantle of a prince without any of the actual responsibilities, separating him too from his responsibilities as a priest, marking him as something other than one. How many times had he seen penitents and petitioners in the chantry pass him by to speak to one of the more humbly dressed sisters or brothers, and thought nothing of it? His eyes filled with tears. "You are right," he said quietly. "I have sinned. I have sinned most grievously."

He fumbled with the belt of his armour, the buckles. "I am not worthy of this armour," he said, voice husky with unshed tears. "And while I have paid lip-service to and kept to the letter of my vows as a priest, I have broken them again and again in spirit, keeping myself apart from those I should have been closest with. You have opened my eyes, Fenris, and for that I thank you. I am ashamed that it took your harsh words to open my eyes to the truth." He peeled rapidly down to the fine linen leggings and shirt he wore under the coat and leggings of mail. Even those, that he would once have thought so humble a garment, were far finer than the robes he should have been wearing.

He put aside the last item of his fine armour, and looked again at Fenris. The elf was staring at him, a look of shocked surprise on his face. "I did not mean for you..." the elf said unsteadily, broke off. "I spoke in anger," he whispered.

"And yet the words you spoke were purest truth," Sebastian said quietly, and smiled at the elf. "Elthina has laboured for years to make me see what you just revealed to me with a few harsh words. I am surprised she did not get frustrated enough to crack my skull open in the hopes of letting in the light. I... have much thinking to do, and choices to make. Choices I have resisted making until now. I thank you, my friend," he said, reaching out unthinkingly and setting his hand on Fenris' bare shoulder.

Light flared up where his hand touched, a bright glow from the lines of lyrium etched into the elf's flesh, then spreading outwards from there, brightest where he touched and fading in intensity as they spread, like a blush. He had seen Fenris light up before, in battle, but that had been a sudden full-body flare, flickering and crawling over his exposed skin, his armour and sword, frightening to behold for the destructive powers it unleashed. This more subtle light, in the darkened room, was breath-takingly beautiful, liming the elf's form in faint lines.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered huskily, and felt Fenris' skin shudder under his hand.

"Do you truly think so?" Fenris asked uneasily. "Or is it these lines that you find beautiful? Others have been beguiled by them before – more than once magisters begged Danarius for my... companionship... as a result of these markings. I hate them," he spat, his words making it unclear whether he meant the marks, the magisters, or both.

"No, it is not just _these_," Sebastian said, stroking his hand slowly down Fenris' chest, marvelling as the glow followed his hand, radiating outwards from it. "Though they are beautiful, too. No, it is as I said earlier, it is _you_ that is beautiful; your strength, your intelligence, your _being_. If these were somehow stripped from you, leaving you scarred and maimed in their loss, I would still think you beautiful," he said, hand stilling where it rested over Fenris' heart. "Still love you," he continued, barely a whisper.

"How can you love me?" Fenris asked, voice pained. "These markings, my hatred... I have so much ugliness in me, in my past..."

"Have you never tended a garden, Fenris? The best gardeners will take the worst filth – rotting scraps, discarded cuttings, manure – and let it stew together in a pile. It changes into a dark, rich soil, and when plants are grown in it, you get the best vegetables, the most beautiful flowers. You are like those plants, Fenris, something seeded in vile decay. But you have grown beyond your roots. Lift your face to the Maker's light."

Fenris laughed harshly. "I am no flower."

"You are as beautiful as one. We are all flowers in the Maker's garden," Sebastian said softly, then leaned forward and kissed him, closing his eyes as Fenris' marking flared to eye-hurting brilliance. He felt Fenris tense, then after a brief hesitation the elf began to kiss him back, his hands rising to twine into Sebastian's hair. He tasted of the wine they'd been drinking, rich and heady. Sebastian moaned as he felt the elf's erection pressing against his, heard and felt Fenris moan hungrily as well.

When the kiss ended Sebastian still held him close, his hands resting lightly against Fenris' sleekly muscled back. Fenris looked up at him searchingly, then lowered his head to rest his forehead against Sebastian's shoulder. "I am frightened," the elf confessed shakily. "I... want you. But this... lying with another has never been anything but pain and humiliation for me, before..."

"Let me show you the joy there can be in it, then," Sebastian responded softly. "It is one of the gifts of the Maker, the joy there can be between two people when they come together in love. For this night, I have put aside my armour, and my vows, and you must learn to put aside your fears. Tomorrow I will need to speak to Elthina, about... about my future, and the choices I must make. This may well be the only time I am free to lie with you. But even if it is, know that I will still love you, and would still want to be your friend, and your companion as much as I am able to be."

Fenris drew a long, shaky breath, then raised his head. "Show me, then," he said huskily. "Show me how to have joy in this. Tomorrow we can worry about what this all means for us."

"What else can we do?" Sebastian said, smiling tenderly and – he hoped – reassuringly at the elf in his arms. "We are each what the Maker made us, and will act as we must."

Fenris nodded, then turned and led the way to the bed. As he cried out in surprised pleasure under Sebastian's gentle hands some time later, Sebastian felt a great peace blooming inside him. He did not know whether he would come to be priest or Prince, but tonight, he knew, he had made the proper choice at last; the decision to _choose_. He would not lose his way again. And with luck and the Maker's favour, whichever way his path led him, Fenris would remain in his life, a beloved friend.


	6. Hawke

Varric looked around the room. For the second night in a row, everyone was gathering in his room at the Hanged Man, though tonight's gathering was unplanned. Merrill had spent the day here, Varric and her having spent much of the morning in mutually enjoyable activities and then the remainder and much of the afternoon in sleep. By then it was close enough to dinner time that he'd invited her to stay for the meal.

Isabella had shown up with their food, having apparently been out all night and slept the day away; she made her breakfast off of their supper. She seemed in quite a good mood; Varric guessed the feisty woman had made a fresh conquest the night before, and that he'd hear all the salacious details in due course, though possibly not until after the elf left.

And then Anders had wandered in, looking remarkably relaxed, and actually carrying a glass of strong drink.

"I thought Justice didn't let you drink?" Isabella enquired curiously.

He smiled. "Justice and I have reached an accommodation. I can drink now, as long as it's not to excess. So no getting pie-eyed drunk, but I can enjoy myself occasionally."

"Well! Sounds like he's loosened up!" Isabella said.

Anders smirked. "You might say that," he agreed, and settled down in a seat at the table, quickly claiming the leftovers from the meal.

Isabella and Varric exchanged a look, sensing a story there, but before they could probe further, the door opened again, letting in Fenris and Sebastian. Sebastian, rather than being dressed in his usual gleaming white-and-gold armour and silver mail, was wearing a simple loose shirt and drawstring pants, the cloth rough and undyed. His habitual slight frown was also gone, replaced by a peaceful smile. Fenris was standing very close to him, his usual remote distaste replaced by a faint smile.

"Good evening, all," Sebastian said cheerfully, drawing out a chair and sitting down as well, Fenris claiming the one next to his and nodding at the others gathered around the table.

"Lost your fancy armour somewhere, choir-boy?" Varric asked.

"No," Sebastian said. "I have put it aside for now. Elthina has granted me dispensation to withdraw from the chantry for a while, to consider what path my future holds for me, whether it be the priesthood or a princedom. I have put aside both my princely armour and my priestly robes, and will wear plain clothes like any common man while I meditate on the question. Though if Hawke wishes me to accompany him still, I have kept my good bow, and acquired a set of less princely armour to wear."

"Withdrawn from the chantry?" Merrill asked curiously. "Does that mean you need a place to live?"

"No, he's staying with me for now," Fenris spoke up calmly. "I have rooms to spare, and could use the company."

Isabella and Varric exchanged another look.

The door opened again, and Aveline came in, looking pink-cheeked from sun and wind. She paused, seeing everyone that was already gathered, and then smiled. "Hello. I was passing by and thought I'd come in to say hello.

Everyone murmured different variations of hello back to her as she took a seat at the table as well, as far from Isabella as she could manage – normal for her – but without the two women exchanging their usual cutting repartee, Varric noted.

Anders had polished off the last of the leftovers. "Too bad we didn't leave you any dessert," Isabella said, amused, as he noisily licked off his fingertips.

He grinned, then glanced at Merrill. "That reminds me – I wanted to thank you for the gift from yesterday, Merrill. I had it before bed last night, it was delicious."

"It was," Isabella agreed, smiling at Merrill. "You're a good cook, Kitten."

Merrill smiled happily as everyone praised her baking. "Thank you," she said. "I was so worried I was going to mess them up, somehow... I didn't start making them until late, and I was so tired!" She frowned. "The flavour didn't come out quite what I thought I remembered, but they were good anyway."

"The flavour..." Fenris said, frowning in thought, then suddenly shot to his feet, eyes widening. "_Venhedis!_ That flavour! I remember it now," he said, scowling darkly at Merrill. "Did it amuse you to dose us all with vhenantuthen seeds, witch!" he snarled. "did you not believe I would recognize it for what it was?"

"Vhenan..." she started to say, then paled. "Oh! Oh no, I _thought_ it was an usual seasoning for the recipe to use! I must have been looking at one of the potion recipes in the other books for a moment instead... oh, I'm sorry, so sorry!" she exclaimed, looking horrified, and burst into tears.

Isabella and Varric hurriedly comforted the distraught elf, Isabella glaring at Fenris for upsetting her.

"What is this vhenantuthen seed?" Sebastian asked Fenris.

Fenris' jaw tightened, and he looked away for a moment, flushing.

"What is it, elf!" Varric demanded sharply.

"The magisters use it to excite slaves into performing for them," Fenris bit off the words. "Mixed into a paste with lathera root, it is a potent aphrodisiac."

Merrill cried even harder. "I... I put in the root, too!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I'm _so sorry_, I never meant to..."

Varric started laughing, then gathered the elf into his arms, pulling her into his lap, and hugged her warmly. "Don't cry, Daisy. I'm certainly not going to complain about the outcome," he assured her, and kissed her soundly on one cheek, then looked around the table. "Anyone else here want to complain?" he asked sternly.

There was silence, and everyone was either looking uneasily at the others, or pointedly avoiding looked. Isabella sat back in her chair. "On reflection, no, I have no complaints," she said, speaking in the direction of the ceiling.

Anders smirked, and topped up his now-empty glass from the half-empty bottle of wine at Varric's end of the table. "I certainly am thoroughly pleased. No complaints from _me_," he said, raising his glass in a silent toast before sipping.

Aveline snorted. Her lips, until then drawn into a thin line, quirked into an amused smile. "Nor me either, I suppose."

"Sebastian? Fenris?" Varric asked.

Sebastian was smiling merrily. "I think the Maker must have been desperate indeed, that it took the help of a blood mage for me to see the light," he said, then looked questioningly at Fenris. "Do you honestly regret what Merrill's mistake led to?" he asked.

Fenris looked down at him for a long moment, then abruptly sat down again. "No. I do not," he said, and openly reached over to set his hand on Sebastian's, causing more than a few eyebrows around the table to rise.

"See, Daisy? It's okay – nothing bad happened," Varric assured her. "Though I'd suggest next time you bake you make sure there's no way you'll look at the wrong recipe by accident. There are worse things you could have added to your baking than just a little something to spice up all our lives."

Merrill calmed down, and Isabella led her off to wash her tear-stained face. By the time the two returned, the two were laughing together about something, and the elf looked much her normal self. Varric had ordered in some snacks and drinks, and everyone was standing around chatting and eating.

Hawke arrived a few minutes later, seeming to take up the whole room just by stepping in through the door. "What! A party, and no one thought to invite me?" he boomed.

Looks were exchanged behind his back as he walked over to pour himself a glass of drink. Isabella quickly spoke up. "We were just talking over what fun the party last night was," she said. "And how delicious the cakes Merrill baked were. Did you eat yours yet?" she asked innocently.

"What? Yes, and it was very good, Merrill – you can bake me another any time!"

"And did you, err... have a good time afterwards?" Anders asked.

"I'll say I did! I nipped over to the Blooming Rose for a while," he said.

More looks were exchanged. "And did you have a _really good_ time there?" Isabella asked.

Hawke shrugged. "About normal, really," he said, and turned away to load up a plate with finger-food.

"Normal?" Merrill said, sounding both relieved and surprised.

A lot of surprised and speculative looks were exchanged behind Hawke's back at that point.

"What does a _normal_ night for you at the Blooming Rose involve, then?" Isabella asked, all innocence.

Hawke turned and looked at the Isabella and Varric suspiciously. "This isn't something you two want to know in order to put it in some of your 'friend fiction', is it?" he asked.

"Oh, no, of course not!" Isabella exclaimed. "Promise!"

Sebastian chimed in, looking and sounding as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. "Just, err... intellectual curiosity, Hawke, related to something we were discussing before you arrived."

Hawke shrugged. "Oh, all right then. Well, I went over, and Madam Lusine got my usual room ready. Then Cora dropped by to polish my blade. After she left Keran dropped in for some naughty-templar-and-blood-mage, then Seamus and I played submit-to-the-Qun – that one's fun, though the headdress gives me a headache after a while. And later Harley popped in for some guard-and-bandit, then..."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Varric exclaimed, interrupting him. "And that's a _normal_ night for you at the Rose?"

"Yes," Hawke said, and looked around. "Any more of those little sweet rolls with the nuts left? No? Pity..."

"Hawke," Fenris asked suspiciously. "When you go to the Rose – do you pay, or get paid?"

"People pay for that?" Hawke asked, looking honestly surprised.

Varric and Isabella exchanged another look. Not just a look – a _Look_.

"You explain it to him, Rivain... I'll go fetch Bianca. Sounds like we might need to go have a little talk with Madam Lusine about her profit margin and what's owed Hawke," Varric said stoutly.

"On it," Isabella said, and headed over to put her arm around Hawke's shoulders – or at least as much of them as she could reach around. "Let me explain some facts of life to you, sweet thing..."

They let him live it down. Eventually!


End file.
